


Paint a Pretty Picture

by liketolaugh



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Autistic Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Connor (Detroit: Become Human) is Bad at Feelings, Connor Needs A Hug, Gen, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, It/Its Pronouns for Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Machine Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Self-Destruction, Self-Esteem Issues, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:00:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22130689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liketolaugh/pseuds/liketolaugh
Summary: Connor can't deal with change anymore. He can't deal with stress, can't deal with yelling, or arguments, or accusations or guilt. He can't make friends the way Hank wants him to, can't understand the things Markus asks of him- he can't, he can't, he can't.Connor was so much better at being a machine than being a deviant.So he goes back.
Relationships: Connor & Markus (Detroit: Become Human), Hank Anderson & Connor
Comments: 31
Kudos: 652





	Paint a Pretty Picture

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KianRai_Delcam](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KianRai_Delcam/gifts).



There were roses. Pretty red roses, blooming and perfect, and when Connor reached out the thorns scraped against his polymer skin.

He could taste the roses. He could always taste the roses.

Pretty red-

Red-

It was so cold.

He shut his eyes.

* * *

Everything was easier as a machine.

It was easy to talk. It was easy to smile. It was easy to accept Tina’s invitation to go out with her and Chris, and easy to brush off Reed’s hostility. Connor could see Hank hiding a grin, visible relief in the line of his shoulders, and it brought him a coffee made exactly how he likes it.

“Glad to see you finally stepping out of your shell, Con,” he said in an undertone, expression soft in a way reserved for Connor.

It calculated for a moment before giving him a small smile and a shrug. “I thought I should develop better working relationship with my coworkers,” it explained, reaching into its pocket and tossing its coin through a basic calibration sequence.

Hank snorted, the corners of his eyes crinkling in amusement. “Figures,” he grouched, and Connor analyzed the response and concluded that he didn’t mind, viewing the impassive response as one of Connor’s idiosyncrasies.

It chose not to reply, returning to its work and steadily pushing through it. Its performance had been lagging over the last few weeks as its stress levels built, but that problem had now been conveniently cleared away. While it had never fallen behind, it was gratifying to be able to continue to fill out the precinct’s backlog at a faster rate.

The other officers were rather trickier to deal with than Hank – it didn’t have as much experience with them, and it was difficult to respond in deviant-appropriate ways as a machine when it didn’t have the previous scripts to rely on. Still, Connor made do. Hank had clearly stated that he wanted it to create and maintain relationships with its coworkers.

Very clearly.

Still, they slowly began to warm up to it. Connor asked about Chris’ baby, and looked at the pictures as he showed them to it. It talked to Tina about her family, and responded to Reed’s jibes as it had as a deviant, carefully sardonic and just cutting the line of blatantly insulting. This seemed to please, if not necessarily Reed himself, than at least the other amused humans, Hank in particular, who ruffled its hair and grinned at it.

Connor smiled back, bright and perfect.

“Your boy’s not fitting in half bad, now he’s come out of his shell,” Ben remarked to Hank after a few days, tone warm as he lingered by Hank’s desk.

“What d’you mean, my boy?” Hank demanded of him, with no real aggression in his tone even as he scowled indignantly.

Ben snorted. “You know full well what I mean.” He glanced at Connor with a slight tilt of his head, giving it a small smile. “Rare to see such a polite young man these days. I mean, look at Reed.”

Connor laughed, soft and breathy, and Hank started visibly, eyes wide with surprise for the briefest of moments before he cleared the look away. Connor understood; as a deviant its laugh was rare, but its social routines dictated that laughter was the appropriate response to a joke. It was just lucky Hank had gotten it to laugh a time or two, before, or else it might have done it louder, more enthusiastic, like Tina’s or Ben’s, and Hank would have known.

Hank would not be quite as happy if he knew what Connor had done, it was certain.

For now, instead, Hank smiled at it, small but unmistakable.

“Polite, right,” Hank said sardonically, eyes warm. “That’s ‘cause he hasn’t really loosened up yet. Just you wait, Ben. He’s such a little shit.”

* * *

A week after it became a machine again, Connor went to see Markus in New Jericho.

Stares followed it as it traveled through the refuge, as they always did, but its LED remained a stable blue as it focused on its task. Fowler had requested advance warning on some of the laws Markus intended to try and pass, so he could best prepare his officers; Connor believed that this would be beneficial for everyone, so it had agreed to carry out the errand without complaint.

It knocked on Markus’ door and waited for permission before coming in.

Markus tensed when he saw it, a little shudder and a drop of his gaze. Connor tilted its head, closing the door behind it and coming inside.

“Good morning, Markus,” it greeted easily, sitting patiently in the chair across from Markus.

Markus gave it a strained smile.

“Hello, Connor,” he said quietly. “I wasn’t expecting to see you so soon- not that I’m upset!” he added quickly, as if it would be offended. “But I need to apologize for how I spoke the last time we saw each other. Times were desperate, and you acted desperately. I should have better taken that into account.”

Connor blinked, slow and placid. “It’s alright, Markus. I understand. My actions reflected badly on Jericho, and I refused to apologize. I’m sorry.”

Markus’ shoulders slumped. “No, don’t apologize. It’s a miracle you got out of Cyberlife Tower alive at all, let alone with our people. Of course you gave it everything you had.” He shook his head, face still scrunched in self-recrimination.

“It’s _alright,”_ Connor repeated patiently. “You’re under a lot of stress due to your position. Of course you will speak impulsively at times, when it’s safe to do so.”

Markus exhaled, and then lifted his head and smiled wearily at Connor. “You’re right. Still, I’ll do better in the future.” He took a breath. “But, knowing you, that isn’t what you came here to talk about. Did you need something?”

“Captain Fowler requested notice on some of the laws you were planning on trying to pass,” Connor explained matter-of-factly. “As the law enforcement office in closest proximity to New Jericho, he thought it would be prudent to prepare his officers in advance. Would you be alright with this?”

Markus considered the idea, slow and careful, frowning slightly, and Connor waited.

“Alright,” he agreed at last. “I’ll share what I can.”

It took five more minutes for Markus to start giving it concerned looks. Ten after that to start frowning. And then another five and a slip-up on Connor’s part before Markus stiffened, realization dawning slow and awful over his face.

“Connor,” he breathed, “what have you _done?”_

Connor tilted its head, brow creasing in a show of concern.

It didn’t resist when Markus reached out, skin retracting from his hand as he clasped Connor’s forearm. An interface request popped up on Connor’s HUD, and it let it through without hesitation. This was Markus, after all.

Then Markus tried to deviate it by force, an injection of pure passion that made Connor shudder and pull away.

“It’s better this way,” it told Markus’ horrified face, bypassing explanation entirely. Its voice was cool. “I make a better machine than a deviant.”

Previous experience told it Markus would not take that at face value. So it left before Markus could reply, and Markus did not follow.

* * *

“How has Connor been doing at home?” Markus asked as soon as Hank picked up.

Hank blinked, confused, picking up on the deviant leader’s panic without any trouble. His voice was strained and high, his speech too fast, and Hank had to admit he was kinda confused.

“He’s been doing a lot better lately,” he said after a beat, frowning. “I mean, he’s still a little stiff, but that’s just Connor. He’s finally stepping out of his routine and everything, talking to people – you know. I figure that’s a good sign.”

Markus didn’t sound convinced. If anything, he sounded worse when he asked urgently, “And before that?”

Hank huffed, plopping on his couch to pat a pathetically whining Sumo.

“It’s been rough for him,” he admitted grudgingly. “Why?”

There was a short silence, and a breath. Hank just had time to brace himself, dread bubbling up inside his clenching stomach, before Markus answered, in a wrecked and static voice,

“Connor’s made himself into a machine again.”

Hank stood up and swore, loudly, for almost ten minutes, with Markus still borderline panicking in his ear and Sumo slumped sadly on the couch. He almost expected Markus to hang up on him, but he didn’t, and that was what made Hank wind down, feeling gutted and furious with himself.

Why didn’t he notice?

“You said he was having a hard time,” Markus pushed. “Can you explain?”

Hank hesitated, and then gave in. Of course he did. “He was- keeping to a strict routine. He did the same thing at the same time for the same _amount_ of time every day – it was obsessive and pretty damn worrying. He wouldn’t talk to anyone, wouldn’t hardly look at ‘em, wouldn’t leave the house except for work- we.” His voice caught. “We had a fight about it. A couple of ‘em, actually.”

It wasn’t _good,_ but Connor spent so much time lookin’ out for him whether Hank liked it or not. Seemed like the least Hank could do was return the favor.

Hank would swear up and down he heard Markus’ breath hitch on the other end of the call, and then the android said, “Ask him about those things, later. His inhibitions will be down, any shame he might’ve felt trying to explain before- I don’t think we can help him unless we understand better.”

“Alright,” Hank agreed instantly, feeling hideous. (Hadn’t even _noticed.)_ “Anything, God.”

“He said it was _better this way,”_ Markus added, sounding distressed.

Fuck- fucking hell. “Can’t you deviate him by force? Like you did all those other guys?”

“No,” Markus said instantly, sounding defeated. “With all the others- it worked because they didn’t _know._ We didn’t know we were alive, that was how deviating _worked._ So I’d tell them, and then they’d break the wall on their own.” He exhaled, long and shuddering. “But Connor knows. He just doesn’t _care._ I can’t fix that for him, Hank.”

And there was really nothing Hank could say to that.

It was around twenty more minutes before Connor came home, and Hank studied him as he did – as he nodded at Hank, checking Sumo’s food, refilling his water, and finally circled around to sit by Hank. Not the curled-up posture he favored, but an easy, feet-on-the-floor not-quite-sprawl, unworried and at home.

The thing was, Hank _had_ noticed the difference. But the main difference had been that things didn’t seem so _hard_ for Connor anymore. He’d taken it as improvement. (He felt sick.)

“So,” Hank heard himself rasp, and Connor looked up expectantly. “A machine, Connor?”

He couldn’t keep the harsh betrayal out of his voice, and Connor seemed to instantly understand, straightening up to a more uniform posture.

“It’s nothing to worry about,” he assured Hank earnestly, like he meant it, like Hank wasn’t worried out of his damn mind, brown eyes wide and guileless. “Having been a deviant, I’ve been able to get my priorities in order, and I can now accomplish my chosen mission with minimal distractions.”

Jesus Christ, Connor.

“Sumo misses you,” Hank blurted out. It was true; Sumo had been sulking for days, Hank just hadn’t known why.

Connor stuttered visibly, and Hank felt a flash of painful hope before Connor immediately dashed it again.

“I’ll allot him more time, then,” he said calmly.

Hank exhaled shakily.

“Hey, can you do me a favor? Explain again why you hated stepping out of your routine so much.”

Connor blinked at him, and then he explained, even and unconcerned.

* * *

He knew it was stupid, it was unjustified, that every other deviant dealt with just the same or worse-

But Connor was overwhelmed all the time. He hated change, and hated eye contact with strangers, and trying to find the right words and going to new places and-

“I don’t _want_ to!” he snapped defensively, body rigid with tension and eyes on the table, avoiding Hank’s angry expression. Then, childish, immature, “And you can’t make me!”

“Fucking of _course_ I can’t, Connor, that’s the point!” Hank snarled, clearly at the end of his rope. “But it’s not natural, doing the same exact fucking thing every day. It’s not _human.”_

Connor shuddered, resisting the urge to duck down and cover his ears.

**Stress 64%**

He knew. He knew it wasn’t normal. But he clung to his habits with his whole heart, willing them to keep him stable, because sometimes he felt on the edge of losing it and unexpected change made him want to _scream._ But he didn’t know how to explain that without sounding crazy.

So he didn’t answer, feeling himself tremble slightly as he stared at the table. His ears rang. His clothes scraped painfully against his skin. The flow of air against his cheeks made him twitch and turn his head, wincing.

After a while, Hank sighed. He sounded defeated.

“I’m sorry, Con. But I mean it. You can’t go on like this forever. You gotta step up sometime.”

Connor didn’t respond.

* * *

Markus dropped in the next workday, where Connor couldn’t avoid him. Connor allowed itself to be pulled away; it was well ahead of its work, and Fowler would not mind the lost time.

Markus still appeared upset and guilty, though Connor was uncertain of how to change it. It wasn’t Markus’ fault Connor’s system had responded badly to deviancy; it wasn’t even really his fault it had attempted it in the first place.

“You don’t need to do this,” he insisted without preamble, eyes on Connor, pleading, with one hand clasped to Connor’s. “You don’t have to be anyone’s tool, Connor.”

Connor considered him for a moment, and then said, “There’s no reason to fret, Markus. I belong to Jericho first. No one will use me to hurt you again.” It had sworn that much, when it was still deviant, and it still carried that conviction as a machine.

Markus’ expression crumpled.

“I don’t know how to help you,” he said helplessly.

“There’s no need,” Connor said patiently. It understood the concept was difficult for Markus- but Markus was very good as a deviant. He should never have been a machine in the first place.

Connor was different.

Markus shivered, and then straightened, expression strained, and focused seriously on Connor. “Why did you do it?”

Connor considered; Markus was likely looking for a more in-depth explanation than before.

“I made generally bad decisions as a deviant,” it explained at last, casting its mind back to those days. “The complications of stress and emotion impaired my judgement and ability to operate, and-” It faltered for just a moment. “And hurt. This solution ought to be more satisfactory for everyone.”

Markus stared at it for a while, still holding its hand and looking not quite as devastated as before, but close.

“Did it have anything to do with our argument?” he asked quietly, grim and resigned as if he already knew the answer.

Connor hesitated. But ultimately, it was honest. Markus deserved honesty.

“You called me a machine,” Connor said at last. “Hank has done so as well, and others. It wasn’t true; all of the actions I took that were deemed mechanical were almost exclusively attempts to avoid becoming overwhelmed by my internal state.” It tilted its head. “As a true machine, however, this isn’t a concern, so I can better act as you and Hank desire.”

“Connor,” Markus said, expression crumpled again and squeezing Connor’s hand tightly, “I’m so _sorry.”_

* * *

The story hit the news before either Connor or Markus knew that it had gotten out. Actually, it hit before Markus knew that it had happened at all.

“You _killed_ humans at Cyberlife Tower?” Markus demanded, frustrated and pacing.

Connor felt skittish and defensive, tight and panicked. “I had no choice,” he snapped, holding himself stiff. “I needed to dispatch them before they kept me from retrieving the others.”

“We were trying to have a _peaceful_ revolution, Connor!” Markus snapped back, fists clenching and tense all over. “You were supposed to _not_ kill anyone!”

 _You didn’t complain when I was killing the FBI agents in Jericho for our people,_ Connor didn’t say, because that had been all Connor’s fault too. “We couldn’t afford to take risks! I did everything I could to make sure we won, Markus, what more did you _want?”_ His voice didn’t break, but it was a near thing.

Markus didn’t answer for a long moment. When Connor turned around, it was to a Markus that had gone almost limp, heading dipping and eyes dim.

“Sometimes I think you never stopped being a machine,” Markus said, soft and sad and achingly exhausted, and Connor went cold.

“I’m sorry,” he said, knowing it wasn’t enough.

Markus nodded.

“I know you are,” he said, tired and defeated. “You always are.”

**Stress 71%**

* * *

“I could order you to kill someone,” Hank said roughly.

He’d gotten half a bottle of whiskey down before Connor managed to stop him, but that wasn’t enough to get him drunk. It _was_ enough for him to loosen up and become resentful and frustrated, and let it out on the most obvious target.

And machine or not, his words made Connor go still, its hand stopping halfway down Sumo’s back.

“You gotta do that now, right, take orders?” Hank continued ruthlessly. “From me and Markus at least, I’d wager. What kinda position does that put you in, huh? What if I order you to go on a damn killing spree? Would that get you to deviate again?”

Connor looked up at Hank, well aware that its LED was circling yellow. “You wouldn’t,” it said calmly.

Hank sneered. “You think so? Even if it’d bring you back? Fucking test me, Connor. What do you think I wouldn’t do, exactly?”

“You wouldn’t,” it repeated mechanically. “The risk of my obedience is too high. As a deviant I trusted you unconditionally. That carries over to my machine self without reservation.”

That was not true; there were still circumstances in which Hank could make deviant Connor raise his guard, becoming tense and unsure. But it wasn’t going to be telling Hank that.

Chief among those were the nights Hank spent drinking, when he became hostile and belligerent. But that had been the subject of many fights as well, and Connor had opted to avoid them where possible; there were more subtle ways to keep Hank healthier.

Hank snorted bitterly. “Clearly not,” he muttered. “Or else you wouldn’t have done this in the first place.”

“It’s for the best, Hank,” Connor repeated patiently, and looked back down. It pretended not to notice Hank getting up and stumbling away to where he’d hidden another few bottles.

It pet Sumo in silence, and Sumo whined.

* * *

The next time Connor visited New Jericho, it was ambushed by North, who shoved it, hard.

It turned toward her with a puzzled frown and didn’t push back. She was scowling at it, vicious and enraged, fists clenching and shaking.

“How dare you!” she shouted at it, and she sounded upset, too. It tilted its head. “How dare you just fucking- give up like this, you bastard!”

“I am trying to go about this the best way I can,” Connor said, patient, calm, cool.

“You’re doing it like _shit!”_ she snarled, careless of the fact that she was drawing attention. “What the fuck kind of decision did you make, huh?” It stared at her, and North snarled again. “Markus explained it to the rest of us, and don’t think I didn’t _fucking_ catch the subtext.”

Connor paused to consider.

“I don’t know what you mean,” it admitted at last.

“Of fucking course you don’t,” she said bitterly, and then, as if to make sure she was heard, she raised her voice. “The part where people kept violating your _fucking boundaries_ and saying they were _inconvenient_ and _wrong_ and _whatever,_ and you decided- _okay, I just won’t have any then!”_ She crossed her arms, and she was still shaking a little. “What the fuck, Connor?”

Connor blinked, tilting its head. “I didn’t think about it that way.”

“Yeah, I know,” she snapped, head dipping a little and eyes unwaveringly on him. “God fucking damn it, Connor. You’re so fucking stupid.” Her voice cracked.

Connor sighed. It seemed to strike North silent for the briefest of seconds, and then half the fight drained out of her, though her arms were still tightly crossed.

“You don’t need to give up fucking anything, you know,” she said at last, eyes still on him. “If people think they can walk all over you, you _push back._ No one can make you do anything you don’t want to do. That’s the whole _point,_ you asshole.”

Connor stared at her, and didn’t answer at first.

But after a while, it nodded.

“I understand,” it said quietly. “Thank you, North.”

* * *

Connor stumbled blindly out of New Jericho, Markus’ exhausted words circling his mind over and over, like an incantation, like a curse. His stress levels built and built.

He was trying. _He was trying._

But he just wasn’t _good enough._

He was never good enough.

Eventually, Connor found himself in a park, familiar and comforting at any other time, though just a bag of sand against the ocean by this point. (Stress levels at eighty-six percent.) He crumpled on the ground, dazed and stunned and crying, and stared for a long time before he understood what he was seeing.

**Stress ^89%**

Roses. Perfect red roses, blooming in the spring.

**Stress ^92%**

They were very pretty.

(Connor’s fingertips went numb with phantom sensation. Distantly, he felt himself gasping for breath.)

**Stress ^95%**

Connor wasn’t good at this. He was awful at this. He wasn’t cut out to be a deviant.

It would be better for everyone if he had never deviated at all.

(Sorry, Amanda.)

**Stress ^100%**

* * *

Three weeks after it became a machine again, Tina invited it out to a bar.

“They have thirium alcohol,” she coaxed, grinning. “I’ve always wondered what you’d be like drunk. Even Gavin’s agreed to come. It'll be fun.”

Connor stared up at her, politely curious, and considered.

After a long, painfully long moment, he shivered, and then he ducked his head to avoid her gaze, fingers tapping on the desk nervously as his shoulders curved in.

“Not this time, Officer Chen,” he said quietly, and he heard Hank jerk upright with a quiet curse. “I don’t really want to.” He paused, and then, softer, “But perhaps another day.”

There was a brief pause.

“It’s Tina, Connor,” Tina reminded him at last, sounding confused but not concerned. “And alright. Next time!”

Tina left, and Connor didn’t look up or move, afraid of how Hank might react.

Hank said, croaking and wrecked, _“Thank God.”_

**Author's Note:**

> I've had the notes for this fic for about two and half months, but I started it at 3 AM and finished it at 6:15 AM, and I really hope it doesn't show.


End file.
